


You Are My Sunshine

by malevolentmango



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, Magic, Memories, Other, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 21:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16249808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango
Summary: “Come back to me, Sunshine,” Asra murmurs, running a comforting hand through your hair.You're not sure what prompts you to ask, after all this time. Maybe a suspicion that you already know the answer, maybe just a need for distraction. Maybe both.“Why do you call me that?”





	You Are My Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to ems for her constant support, even though she is currently dead to me for that stunt she pulled in the discord. <3

You awake in an unfamiliar room, to an unfamiliar face with messy white hair, with an unfamiliar feeling in your chest, like something is there that should not be.

 

But the face with the messy hair smiles, though it’s obvious from the deep circles under his eyes and the creases in his forehead that it’s not an expression he’s worn much lately. Somehow, the sight of him makes your panic at discovering your current situation ease, just a little.

 

He smiles, this person who is a stranger to you, and he says, “You’re awake, Sunshine!” And although you don’t even know what your name is, this one makes you feel safe for reasons you can’t even begin to guess.

 

* * *

 

“I won’t be gone long, Sunshine,” Asra says.

 

He always says that, and sometimes he’s telling the truth. But the two of you have very different definitions of “long” - to him, it seems his excursions last only an instant, but to you, it’s like trudging through mud. You go about your days as normal, but you feel like something’s missing, like the world is just a little less bright without him in it.

 

The thought makes you blush, and you banish it away to the corner of your brain where other such thoughts reside. It wouldn’t do to think that way about your master. You hope he hasn't noticed. 

 

“Where are you off to this time?”

 

Asra smiles in a way that makes you think he  _ did _ notice, but he's kindly choosing not to question it. 

 

“Oh, here and there,” he says, throwing his scarf around his shoulders. “I'll bring you a souvenir.”

 

You're tempted to say you don't need a souvenir, that you just wish he'd stay. You don't get a chance to say anything before he's out the door with one last lingering look in your direction. 

 

* * *

 

You never get tired of wandering through the market with Asra. Even though it's always packed with people, he manages to sticks to your side, pointing out different trinkets and foods that he's seen on his travels and telling you stories about them. He buys you things that catch your eye, and you're never quick enough to tell him you don't  _ really _ need them. Not that it matters; he would get them for you anyway. 

 

Seeing the joy in his eyes whenever he hands you something special always ensures you don't protest too much. 

 

But for all that, your absolute favorite place in the market is the baker’s. 

 

He greets you both warmly and ushers you towards your usual table, following after you with two tin mugs of his signature minty brew and plunking them down between you.

 

“My two favorite customers! I assume you'll be wanting the pumpkin loaf?”

 

Asra laughs. “You know us too well.”

 

“Be out in a sec! Get cozy, you two,” he adds with a wink before he heads back into the kitchen. 

 

You pass the time by pulling your latest market find out of your bag: a set of amethyst crystals. You really tested your bartering skills to get a good deal on them, but it was worth it. 

 

Asra props his chin on his hand, watching you examine them, and says, “What's so special about those, then?”

 

At the time, you'd told yourself you picked them up with the intention of selling them in the shop - they're really an exquisite set, and you could make a decent amount off them. But you know that wasn't what drew you to them in the first place. 

 

“They reminded me of you,” you say quietly, barely audible over the chatter of the baker's other customers. But from the way Asra's eyes widen, it's clear he heard you anyway.

 

You can't meet his eyes for very long, embarrassed at your own honesty, but you don't miss the way Asra blushes and seems to struggle with words for a moment. 

 

“Sunshine…” he manages, just as the baker returns with two steaming loaves of bread, grinning ear to ear.

 

“Fresh from the oven!” he says, and immediately waves Asra off when he starts to reach into his bag. “You know better than that, Asra.”

 

Asra shrugs, smiling. “An enby can dream.” 

 

He's still staring at you with something like wonder in his eyes. 

 

* * *

 

Try as you might, you can't change the shape of the table.

 

Asra insists that the old square table they have in the back room of the shop just isn't right for the room. It should be larger, circular, a focal point that dominates the space. It is, after all, where the magic happens. 

 

He’d said the last part with a complicated wiggle of his fingers that he's never once used to perform magic since you've known him. But it does make you laugh, and he looks positively delighted. 

 

He's also insisting that you should be able to change it yourself. And you just… can't seem to do it. No matter how much you call on your magic, or how you try to tell it what you want the table to be, it resolutely remains the same rickety square of wood it's always been. 

 

“Come on, you can do this,” Asra says, from where he's leaning casually against the wall. “It's just like what we did with the stones.”

 

You huff, glancing incredulously at him over your shoulder. “Those were much smaller.” You can't help but feel like the table is mocking you with its utter refusal to shapeshift on command. “And this  _ thing _ isn't listening to me.”

 

Asra laughs, pushing himself off the wall to stand beside you. He takes your hand in his, and your heart leaps into your throat.

 

“I promise, it's the same idea,” he says. “Visualize what you want the table to become. What it looks like, how it feels when you touch it, the sound it makes when you set something heavy on it, the smell of the wood…” 

 

Despite the distraction of your hand in his, his instructions do help you imagine it. Holding all those ideas in your mind at the same time is the hardest part, but you're getting better. You can picture it now, when you close your eyes: a perfect circle, the scent of fresh-cut wood, the rich grains, a deep honey-brown…

 

When Asra speaks again, he does so quietly, trying not to disturb you. 

 

“Your imagination is the key, but your hand is the door.” He lifts your joined hands, balancing yours in mid-air, angling it toward the center of the room. “Use it to focus your magic, to make your vision become reality.”

 

This time, when you will the table to change, you can  _ feel _ that it works, from the tips of your tingling fingers down to your very bones. But the force of the magic shocks you - it has a depth that you've never felt before, a power that's nearly overwhelming in its intensity. It knocks the breath out of you, leaving you gasping, and you hear an answering gasp from Asra.

 

“What--” you start to say, voice shaking.

 

“Oh, Sunshine…”

 

When you finally open your eyes, you see the table, gleaming in the center of the room where the old square used to be, and it's exactly as you imagined it. But you're shocked to find that the whole room is changed as well. Where before it was a little bit dark, a bit dusty, a bit - or a lot - in need of some updates, now it's completely transformed. The brick walls, where they’re exposed, are clean, and the rest are draped in rich, dark fabrics - crimson reds and deep purples patterned with gold stars. A stained glass window adorns one wall where a window never was before, with diamonds of pink, purple, and blue. The table is surrounded by short, plush stools, and hanging over it is an ornate wrought iron lantern, which casts the whole room in cool blue-green light.

 

The table is yours, but the rest? You can see Asra in every inch of this room, his personality, his aura. Was that  _ his _ magic you felt, coursing through you, overpowering all your senses? Or was it just his proximity to you, and the fact that you…

 

He’s still holding your hand.

 

You feel like you should say something, but when you turn to look at him, you can’t find any words. He’s just staring at you in awe - as if he’s seeing you clearly for the first time, and finds himself enamored. You’re almost certain Asra’s never once looked at you like this before, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel strange. Maybe it’s your own wishful thinking, but there’s a part of you that believes he should  _ always _ look at you like this - that it’s normal, expected, but no less wonderful for being so.

 

Finally, as if in some sort of trance, he raises your hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles - so soft that if you hadn’t seen it happen with your own eyes, you wouldn’t have felt it at all. And he says, “Well, I suppose that’s one way to remodel this old place.”

 

His awful joke makes you laugh, dispelling the tension in the suddenly too-small room. He congratulates you on your impressive display of magic, and you both move on to work on other things. But no matter what you do, you can’t forget the feeling of his lips against your skin.

 

* * *

 

You still don’t remember who you were before the accident that took your memories away, but the headaches come far less frequently now that Asra has begun revealing things to you. With everything that’s going on, it’s hard to actually find time to be alone with him, but sometimes you manage.

 

“Well, hello there,” he says, grinning, as you manhandle him into a quiet corner of the palace, out of sight of the guards and servants who are running around preparing for the Masquerade. “What’s the occasion?”

 

You flush, thinking you might have been a  _ bit _ overzealous. Asra doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. The two of you are supposed to be on your way to meet the Countess, but he appears content just to lounge against the wall of this little alcove, pulling you closer to him with steady hands on your hips.

 

“I just… wanted to see you.”

 

“To see me?” He grins. “And here I was beginning to think you might've had enough of me, after all this.”

 

You shake your head and say “Never!” so emphatically that Asra looks a bit startled. But then his smile turns infinitely more genuine.

 

“You've got me, Sunshine,” he says softly. “Now, what do you plan on doing with me?”

 

You hadn't really thought that far ahead, to be honest. Despite spending so much time together recently, it still somehow doesn't feel like enough; like no amount of time will  _ ever _ be enough with this thing between the two of you finally morphing into something so new and exciting. Being this close to him feels right in a way you can't fully describe.

 

Maybe, you think, it doesn't need an explanation. Maybe it's just something you should grab hold of and never let go. 

 

Asra seems to read your intentions almost as soon as you make up your mind, because he's already leaning in to meet you when you pull him in for a kiss. You can feel him smiling against your lips, and you might be a little biased, but you're pretty sure it's the best feeling in the world.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, when all is quiet and you have nothing else occupying your thoughts, you hear it: a bitter echo that can never be blocked out, in the way the truth rarely can.

 

_ I died. I died, I died, I died. _

 

It shouldn't make sense. It should be absurd to even consider it, but the words ring through you with a bone-deep certainty. You understand, now. You don't  _ remember, _ but you understand. 

 

It never takes long for Asra to find you when those words get stuck on loop, when all you can do is think. Maybe he feels something through your shared heart; you haven't asked, because at times like this, it's hard for you to feel anything at all.

 

You're in the shop this time. He finds you behind the counter, hands splayed on the glass, staring at your own wares but not really seeing them. He treats you so gently, as if he's afraid to break you. It wouldn't be the first time.

 

It's a relief to have his arms around you. 

 

“Come back to me, Sunshine,” he murmurs, running a comforting hand through your hair. 

 

You're not sure what prompts you to ask, after all this time. Maybe a suspicion that you already know the answer, maybe just a need for distraction. Maybe both. 

 

“Why do you call me that?”

 

Asra goes completely still for a moment, and then he chuckles, fondly but without any real humor. 

 

“It was your idea, actually. From… before. I guess I never really let it go.” He smirks. “Character flaw.”

 

You frown at him, a silent request for more information. Asra sighs, and there's a look in his eyes that reminds you a bit too much of how he looked at the Lazaret - lost, broken, grieving. You lift your hand to cup his cheek, distracting him from wherever his dark thoughts have taken him. It seems it’s a trend today.

 

“We make quite the pair,” you say wryly. 

 

That draws a real laugh from him, and when you smile at him, the answering quirk of his lips is just as lovely as it always is. 

 

“We do,” he says, so sweetly that you can't help but kiss him. He meets you gladly, and though it's a simple, chaste kiss, it's filled with so much affection that those haunting words from before fade away into the background.

 

When you part, he adds, “That's exactly why, you know. Why I call you Sunshine. Because that's what you are; it's what you've always been.”

 

His voice is surer now, and he tells you a story from your hazy, distant past. How the plague had just begun taking its toll on the city in earnest, how the panic and confusion took over everything. How Julian's clinic was so overrun with patients he couldn't cure that he'd had no choice but to start turning them away. How people would glare at you and Asra in the streets when magic failed to save their loved ones, as if you were the reason for it. 

 

“You were always so kind to them,” he says, his voice so achingly fond that you feel your cheeks heat up. “Despite it all.”

 

And one day, he tells you, it all became too much for him. It wasn't the first or last day of that sort, but he insists it was the most important one. The two of you had been working so hard, studying books of magic, testing spell after spell with no success, and the persistent weight on both of your shoulders to solve this thing, to figure it out, became so heavy that Asra just… broke down. 

 

He looks almost ashamed to repeat it now, and it's clear that he’s glossing over the specifics. You imagine, though, that it might have been similar to what you saw at the Lazaret, and your heart aches to think of Asra suffering so much. 

 

“You've always been stronger than me, you know,” he says. “That day, I think you'd had enough of my wallowing. You slammed shut the book you were reading and marched over to me, and you--you just hugged me and refused to let me go until I calmed down. And you said, ‘We're gonna figure this out, and we're gonna fix it. And we'll do it together.’”

 

Asra’s grip tightens around you.

 

“And then you really just… I mean, if I hadn't already loved you more than anyone else in the entire world, this would have sealed the deal.” He's smiling now, and gazing at you with such adoration that you can  _ feel _ it, like a tingling warmth on your skin. “You said, ‘When you can't see the sun, I'll be your sunshine.’ And I liked that so much that I must've annoyed the hell out of you, calling you Sunshine all the time. But you never told me to stop.”

 

You laugh, for the first time utterly charmed by a story about your past. “I assume I liked it. It makes me happy to hear it now, at least.”

 

“Good, because it's still true. You're still my sunshine, my light.”

 

You didn't think you could love Asra any more than you already did. You thought you were already full up with it, bursting at the seams with all your joy and affection, with your longing and tenderness and desire. But he keeps surprising you. You think he probably always will. 

 

“And you are mine,” you say. 

 

He only proves you right when the smile he offers you is as bright as the sun itself. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://malevolentmango.tumblr.com/).


End file.
